


Get Into It Again

by uro_boros



Series: grief counselor!Jean 'verse [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M, Marco is dead, grief counselor!Jean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2014-06-04
Packaged: 2018-02-03 08:52:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1738664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uro_boros/pseuds/uro_boros
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a picture of Marco in the entrance way, by the door, and Mikasa stares at it or her reflection in the glass of it when she goes to leave.</p>
<p>"It worked for you?" she asks, one foot outside of the door and the other still in his house.</p>
<p>Jean shrugs. “It’s an on-going process,” he tells her, honestly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get Into It Again

"That’s okay," Marco says one day, his hand resting in the space between their bodies, his fingers spread open and reaching (always reaching) towards Jean. "I’m just happy to have known you." His teeth are white and straight in his smile. His cheeks dimple, freckles creasing with the motion.

Jean stares until he has to look away. There’s something raw that tastes like honesty in the air between them. Jean’s never been good at honesty; he doesn’t trust honesty, except he trusts Marco, and that’s nearly the same.

His remembers his ceiling from that day, its surface blank and smooth, the corners dusty. There hadn’t been anything interesting to focus his gaze on, but it was better than that feeling of being laid open that hun between them and made something ache deep inside Jean.

He remembers Marco’s hand, dark on Jean’s bed sheets, fingers spread open and reaching (always reaching) towards Jean.

—-

Mikasa is the one to approach him, her eyes dark, pooling, but flat. She says, rehearsed, “You’re the one that everyone recommends.” 

Jean is closer to thirty now than he is to twenty. He hasn’t seen Mikasa in years. He doesn’t think she’s here for her grief, though she wears it on herself like she does the faded scarf around her neck, its color lost with years and time. Jean never used to think of how sad she was (she is), but it’s all he can think now.

"It’s usually not good when people come to me because I’ve been recommended," he says instead. He gestures at the seat across from him. "Let me get you something to drink before we start."

Eren is the first thing off her tongue, and the last. Her cup of green tea sits cooling and untouched next to her, and her eyes are dark, pooling, flat. She’s still as beautiful as he remembers her being, but he feels a profound sadness for her now. Mikasa hasn’t changed much, but Jean has; he wonders if she sees it in him, the way he sees it in her

"I’ll help as much as I can," he tells her at the end, after she’s done explaining, though she’s clearly ready to convince him of more. It’s more words she’s spoken now than she ever spoke to him during college, and something about that is very sad, too. Mikasa pauses and then, delicately, takes a sip of her cooling green tea. 

"Thank you," she says quietly, after she’s set the cup back down onto Jean’s table with the same kind of quietness that coats her words. 

And then, so slight that Jean nearly misses it, her lips curl and her eyes are dark, pooling, and alive. She’s so beautiful in that moment that he remembers being nineteen and convinced he was in love with her.

(always reaching, skin dark on his sheet, fingers spread, spaces open in between them for him to slot his own into)

Jean huffs, sighs, runs a hand through his hair—he keeps the sides shaved, although he’s nearing thirty, three years shy. “It only works if Eren wants it to. I can’t force him,” he lets her know. Mikasa nods once.

She doesn’t finish her tea. He doesn’t expect her to. There’s a picture of Marco in the entrance way, by the door, and she stares at it or her reflection in the glass of it when she goes to leave.

"It worked for you?" she asks, one foot outside of the door and the other still in his house.

Jean shrugs. “It’s an on-going process,” he tells her, honestly. She nods again and leaves it at that. Jean shuts the door behind her and rubs at the skin of his chest, over his heart.

Honesty still feels raw. He wonders (he always wonders) if it had to Marco that day, too, as he lay on Jean’s bed, his hand reaching out for Jean to take.

There’s a courage about honesty that Jean’s never had. “That’s okay,” says Marco in his ear. “I’m just happy to have known you.”

Jean rubs at his chest again, frowning, before going to his small home office. 

There’s a picture of Marco on his desk. Jean takes out a small black book from a drawer and a pen, then, carefully, writes in Eren Jaeger’s name for an appointment—group therapy twice a week, one-on-one once a week. He shuts the book with a soft noise. 

He collapses into the desk-chair, staring at the ceiling. Its surface is blank and smooth, but the corners are dusty. Marco watches Jean from his position from the frame on Jean’s desk; something hangs between them, open, like the fingers of Marco’s hand that day, enough space between each digit for Jean to fit his own into.

He never does.

He never does.

(That’s okay, Marco says, cheeks dimpling, I’m just happy to have known you.)

—-

In his dreams, Jean stares at Marco until it stops hurting, kisses Marco with his eyes open as they lay there on Jean’s bed. Jean is nearing thirty and he wonders if Marco sees the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes or the dust gathered at the corners of the ceiling. 

Jean fits their hands together.

There’s a reason these are dreams.

—-

"You don’t clean very well," Eren tells him at their first one-on-one, after the group therapy session. They’re in Jean’s small home-office rather than the open room at the hospital.

"How do you figure that?" Jean asks, tapping his pen against the stack of papers in his lap. Marco watches from his frame, his dark eyes eternally patient.

Eren frowns, before pointing at the ceiling. Jean follows the line of his finger. “The corners of the room are dusty. Levi used to always bitch about that, about how people think it’s enough to look clean without actually cleaning.” Defensively, he adds, arms folding and his mouth twisted into something resembling a pout, “That’s what he always said. It’s true.”

"Yeah," agrees Jean after a moment. "It’s true."

_It’s an on-going project,_ he told Mikasa a few weeks ago. 

After Eren leaves, Jean gets out a ladder, and dusts the corners for the first time in years.


End file.
